Lost Memory
by FalconFate
Summary: Rhiannon isn't normal. She was found in Canada, near dead and a complete amnesiac. Not to mention the owner of some very strange abilities. Now, when the Avengers are starting to form, can she really step up and do what she has always wanted to do—fight for what's right? Rated T just… because.
1. Chapter 1

**So… second one… this fanfic takes place DURING the series.**

**I own nothing but the OCs.**

**EDIT*: Story is going through a MAJOR REWRITE! Rhiannon won't be quite such a Sue.**

* * *

Rhiannon was sitting down for dinner. As she usually did, she cooked up a quick meal before sitting on the couch in front of the television to watch the news. Today, the blaring headline was, '**_IRON MAN SAVES UNITED NATIONS FROM HYDRA!_**'. She rolled her eyes.

"Why is it never anything interesting?" Rhiannon muttered as she flipped through different channels—all of them featuring the flying metal man's savior of the UN. Everything else was down because of recent storms. Rhiannon yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and then put her dishes away, preparing for the evening ritual.

After she had washed up and changed into her bedclothes, she got out the book she was currently working through—it was about a boy and his dragon, saving the world—when she heard a knock on the front door. Frowning, Rhiannon put her arms in her sweater and went to answer it. If it was one of those guys again…

She opened the door. On her front porch, dressed in a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's catsuit, was a woman, barely the height of Rhiannon herself—who, though not really short, wasn't exactly tall—with slightly dark skin and close-cropped dark brown hair. The woman held up a card. "Agent Maria Hill from the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate. Are you Rhiannon Creel at 128 Oak Drive?"

Shocked, Rhiannon nodded. "What does S.H.I.E.L.D. want?" she asked.

Maria Hill glared. "You'll see. I'm afraid you'll have to come with me, Ms. Creel."

"Rhiannon. And I'm afraid you'll at least have to give me a hint as to why you're taking me on such short notice. And you'll have to let me change—unless you're wanting all of S.H.I.E.L.D. to see me in a nightgown?"

Maria smirked. "Five minutes."

Rhiannon nodded. Five minutes was enough.

She went back into her room and changed into her normal outfit—black jeans and her favorite faded dark blue tank top—and grabbed her tan leather jacket off of its hook in the kitchen, slipping her feet into the tall boots by the door. Rhiannon opened it to the surprised look of Maria Hill.

"Unlike you, I don't lie just to escape," Rhiannon told her. The agent glowered.

Putting a finger up to her earpiece, Hill ordered, "Stand down." Around the house, Rhiannon heard the subtle sounds of agents lowering their weapons.

"Brought the whole entourage?" she muttered under her breath.

"Director Fury knows what you're capable of, Ms. Creel. We don't take chances," Hill told her.

Rhiannon sighed. "I know that Fury knows. He's the one who made it somewhat possible for a life here."

"Then be grateful. He doesn't often show that much generosity to someone who hasn't saved the world at least once."

* * *

Rhiannon _was_ grateful. Grateful that she had seen the gigantic Helicarrier before and knew not to panic—too much. She always had the feeling she had seen something like it before, yet different, but when she tried to remember it, her mind drew a blank—as it had with any memory, big, small, or insignificant, since before about six or seven years ago.

Fury and a team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had found Rhiannon lying unconscious in the woods of Canada almost seven years ago, shivering in the winter's chill. When she had awoken on the Helicarrier, it had been to no memory of who she was, and only a palm-sized silver locket with nothing but a folded note inside.

Rhiannon had read the note a hundred thousand times, and now knew it by heart:

_Dearest Rhiannon,_

_Don't forget me! I will come back to you, even if I have to lose an arm and a leg to do so! I love you, and will always think of you.  
_

_Love, J.B.B_

Well, it seemed that whoever J.B.B was, he had broken his promise—and she hers. Rhiannon couldn't even see the faintest shadow of a memory when she thought of the name J.B.B.. Director Fury, sympathetic in his own way, had reasoned that the mysterious author of the note was in the military in some way. He had searched through the Army, Marines, Air Force and Navy, but none of the J.B.B.s he found were missing a Rhiannon. The only ones who looked up at the name were those who knew their friend, sister, sister-in-law, sister-in-law-to-be, daughter, niece, cousin, wife or girlfriend were safe at home.

Occasionally, she remembered brief moments—a flash of blue or red, a faint scent of fresh roses and grass, the echoes of laughter. Once, a kiss.

Rhiannon was shaken back to the present as Agent Hill said, "Ms. Creel, we're here."

Rhiannon nodded and stood up. The shuttle ride to the Helicarrier had been long. Far too long.

They disembarked the small shuttle-plane, and Hill led her to the Helicarrier's bridge. Fury stood there, glowering underneath his eyepatch, as usual. He turned as Hill called his name.

"Ms. Creel. Glad you could make it," he said.

Rhiannon said nothing as Fury continued. "As you well know, S.H.I.E.L.D. is just that—a shield, a defensive system of the world. We work hard to protect our world, both from out-of-town invaders to supervillains and the bad guys among us. I called you here to offer you a chance to join our system. Your abilities are unique, and should be used to—"

"Hold up." Rhiannon held up a hand. "First of all, I don't care that you rescued me from certain death. That's your job. I don't exactly owe you a debt just because you did it right. Second, I have a distaste for the word 'use'. And third… well, third would be that I can't _use _my abilities. Occasionally, I can get them to do what I ask, but not all the time. And even when I do happen to get it going, it always blows up in my face. So, the answer to your offer, however nice, is no."

Fury bagan to protest. "We have people who could hel—"

"Don't need it. Don't want it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going." Rhiannon turned, headed for the door.

"Creel!"

Rhiannon stopped, looking back. There was fire in her violet eyes; a fire so bright it hurt to look at.

Fury glared right back. "Ms. Creel, I'm afraid you don't quite understand the situation."

"Too bad. I'm going." And she went.

* * *

**Well? How is it so far?**

**Please review!**

**FF**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, I'm back. **

**I own nothing but the OCs.**

* * *

Rhiannon was annoyed. She had returned home from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier the night before and had awoken to the feeling of being watched. Heightened senses could do that to a person, she supposed.

She had glowered in the direction of the left-hand neighbor's house, feeling her eyes alight with fire again. The watched feeling immediately dissipated. Rhiannon smirked and mentally doused her eyes. She hadn't completely lied to Fury, she had very little control over her 'powers', but she knew how to turn some of them on and off.

After her morning meditation and yoga, Rhiannon fixed up a quick breakfast of toast. Then, after running a brush and a comb through her long back curls and quickly and efficiently twisted it up into a half bun, she grabbed the things she'd need and headed for work.

Rhiannon's job was a very good one. Every morning, at eight o' clock, she'd take a taxi down to Manhattan from Riverhead. It was a very long drive, but that gave her time to think.

The taxi would stop in front of a tall, almost menacing-looking building, where Rhiannon would get out and tip the driver.

Today was no exception. Rhiannon entered the tall doors of the New York Times' building, greeting Teresa, the secretary, who always looked surprised that Rhiannon cared enough to remember her name. Then she took the elevator up to the sixth floor, where she knew her boss was getting his seventh cup of coffee.

Rhiannon crossed the large room, winding her way between people and desks, to where her boss was currently taking his first sip of that cup.

"Ah, Miss Creel! Right on time, as usual."

Rhiannon smiled. "I aim to please, sir."

Fredrick Rocco—Freddy Roc to those who knew him—was tall, his height accentuated by slacks and a crisp white shirt. His curly dark brown hair was as mussed as it usually was, falling over his ocean-blue eyes. Rhiannon had always felt comfortable around him—he almost seemed familiar, though had had the distinct feeling of being a stranger when she had first met him.

"Well, ready to get to work? Have you finished that book I gave you yet?"

"Last night."

"And…?"

Rhiannon smiled. "It has a sense of adventure, emotions and quirky characters that, when combined, make a story impossible to put down."

"Excellent! I do love your wording. I'll get it to Anna in a moment. In the meantime, how about you help Teresa downstairs? Goodness knows she'll need it today. Authors are coming in like ants come to a honeycomb!" Freddy exclaimed, tossing his hands in the air for emphasis.

"Will do. Have fun, boss," Rhiannon laughed as she headed back to the elevators.

After helping Teresa with a problem on the computer, and giving the dimply blonde a few tricks to try with the keyboard, it was time for the lunch break. Rhiannon exited the building, headed for a small coffee shop around the corner with Terence, one of the other reviewers for NYT.

Once at the shop, Rhiannon ordered her meal—a coffee, a ham sandwich, and a small muffin on the house—and sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs in the corner. Terence joined her after getting his lunch, and they talked about the books they'd read and reviewed. After working with the blond for six years, Rhiannon treated him like a brother.

After lunch, they headed back to the NYT, but were stopped short along the way. A tall, greenish-blueish miniature tornado was headed their way. It was being chased by a small yellow-black figure, which was shooting tiny bolts of yellow energy. The tornado was running around, tossing cars in the air and then coming back and blowing by the bug-like zapper.

"Terence, get back to the building!" Rhiannon yelled.

"What about you?"

"Right behind you! Now GO!"

Terence ran, not looking back to see if Rhiannon did follow him. Meanwhile, Rhiannon, uncertain of whether she should help or not, crouched behind a car that hadnt yet been turned over. When she saw that the bug-woman (as she could see that it _was _a woman, now) had things under control, she followed her friend.

* * *

"Where were you?! I came back to the building and you weren't behind me!"

Rhiannon stood, still slightly breathless from running all the way from Main Street, and said, "The tornado thing got in my way…"

"Hmph. Just don't do it again, please."

Rhiannon laughed. "Don't worry, I don't plan on it." _Though Fury might…_

Terence smiled ruefully, but his brown eyes still held their worried look. "Well, ready to get back to work?"

"You bet."

* * *

Once her work day was finished, Rhiannon got a taxi back to Riverhead. She entered the house, set her things down and collapsed on the couch. Things were far too hectic in Manhattan for her taste. But her job was good—fun, even—and she loved being able to read good books. Now, if only she didn't have crazy superpowers, then all would be perfect in life.

* * *

**Sorry it's short. Please review?**

**FF**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ha… haha… hi. I just looked on the traffic graph for this, and I have visitors from CHINA! And the ****Philippines! And France! Two from France, actually. I just think that that is so freaking cool. I mean, come on. CHINA! When I get into this school I'm wanting to go to, they have a Mandarin class, which I want to take. Plus China is awesome; after all, they honor dragons, and anyone who honors dragons is awesome. So there.**

**I only own the OCs. **

* * *

Rhiannon was starting to wonder just how impossible the world was going to get. Mass supervillain breakouts over America? Long-dead super soldiers returning from their watery graves? Norse gods appearing out of the heavens? A _band _of _superheroes?!_ Really, the world was starting to get even stranger than the books she'd read! Which was saying something, as she'd read some pretty strange fantasy.

But this… this was science fiction come to life. Over the past few weeks, Manhattan had been the home of one big nightmare. Not only was it weird, or even just plain terrifying, it made Rhiannon think more and more about her meeting with Nick Fury. More than once she'd caught herself thinking that perhaps her… abilities could really be tamed and used for good.

Which she told herself was crazy. Absolutely insane.

And that was _before _Fury decided to spill the metaphoric beans to that ragtag group of 'heroes'. Sure, it was probably so subtle they almost missed the hint, but still. It made Rhiannon a bit edgy. On the press, the famous Tony Stark had been putting out subtle, almost completely unrelated-to-subject-of-finding-her askance of her whereabouts.

Drat-fingled superspies.

And drat-fingled superheroes as well. The darned things were helpful, sure, but they didn't seem to appreciate that the city didn't have Wolverine's healing ability. Yes, the thunder-god boy and the Hulk helped out with the heavy lifting, and the others made their own contributions to clean-up, but most of the time they were so busy fighting bad guys that they were just destroying the city even more.

Then came The Monday. The Monday that shattered her world and sent her tumbling into this long venture. Oh, if only she'd simply hired a telepath to help her when Fury suggested it. Though that might have made things difficult.

That Monday, she and Terence had returned to the NYT from lunch break again, when he said, "You know, sometimes I get the feeling that you're not from this era. You take things into hand in such an old-fashioned way, but at the same time so modern, it's like you're two entities in one body."

Rhiannon, who was in a grouchy mood that day, snorted. "Which books have you been reading? The ones with spiritual happenings and unnatural occurrences?"

"No. I've been thinking. And it seems a bit… disconnected that you know so much about things that most people have almost no knowledge of: where WWII's Commandos would go—"

"Okay, seriously Ter, just stop." Rhiannon held up both of her hands in an _Everything halt! _gesture. "I am fairly certain that I'm not some weird survivor of WWII or something, or an immortal alien or whatever else you've managed to come up with. Really, when did you start thinking like this anyway?"

"When you stayed behind at that attack of Angry Tornado."

"Whirlwind," Rhiannon corrected. "and you're thinking I'm the Wasp?"

Terence looked caught off guard. "Well…"

"That's exactly what you're thinking. _Great._"

"What? Is it true?"

Rhiannon scowled at him. "Really? The Wasp has blue eyes. Do I have blue eyes? As far as I know, they were violet when I looked in the mirror this morning."

"They are violet…"

"So shush your grumbles."

* * *

Once they had gotten back to the NYT building, Rhiannon apologized to Terence for being short before being whisked off to review some of the new things on the Book Block, as everyone called it. Rhiannon got the feeling that Terence was still annoyed with her, though.

Then, of course, a supervillain or two decided it would be so much fun to smash into the side of the building. As everyone screamed and ran for the stairs, Rhiannon, who had been blown to the back, stood up, purple eyes glowing almost blindingly with violet fire. She spread her arms, feeling ghostly yet indestructible wings form around them. The rest of the bird avatar formed around her as well: an aerodynamic hawk's head, a long, sturdy tail, and clawed talons, which, as she was in the center of it, made her lift a few feet off the ground.

A flicker of fear ran through her. _What if I can't control it?_

_Stow that talk! It's hardly going to help. Just concentrate on getting out there and doing what you're supposed to be doing! Fighting! _screamed a familiar-sounding voice in the back of her mind.

Using her enormous spirit-like wings, she propelled herself out into the air of the city. Sharpened eyes immediately caught sight of her enemies: the Wrecking Crew, infamous in New York for their muscly strength and merciless destruction. Rhiannon felt her fire-filled eyes narrow to almost slits and, tucking her huge wings in, dived straight for the two with weapons.

Seeing her shadow, they looked up, and only one's face didn't turn into a mask of terror—or at least, she couldn't see any expression behind that helmet thing. With an otherworldly shriek, she caught two of them—the one with the crowbar and the one with the helmet—up in her spectral talons, rising high into the air before throwing them at their companions.

They didn't have time to dodge, and the two that Rhiannon threw cannoned into the others, creating a small crater. Before they could recover, she swooped down again and snatched up all four of them.

Since her talons, though slightly see-through, were very much _real _and _there _and _sharp_, she had her prizes tightly encased in pure mental energy. They couldn't move, and even their strength couldn't break her hold.

Rhiannon rose above the city, flying higher than a normal human should without being in a plane or wearing a helmet. Her prisoners didn't seem to have a problem, and her armor protected her from the thinner air. Her eagle eyes scoured the surrounding area, searching. There! In the distance, a couple of miles away from Manhattan and over the ocean, was the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier—her new destination.

In a matter of a minute and a half, she had reached it, hovering over its landing strip, waiting. After five minutes, a figure—one she easily recognized—came out onto the strip, holding a bullhorn.

"_Ms. Creel, if you would set your cargo down, we would like to have a word with you._"

Rhiannon rolled her eyes, before shouting down, "Do you want me to set them down or stand on them so they don't get away?"

"_Whichever you would prefer._"

Rhiannon spiraled down, landing surprisingly lightly, keeping the Wrecking Crew flat against the ground under her talons. Nick Fury strode up to her, single eye glaring with… well… fury. But behind that, Rhiannon saw something else. Pride, triumph, satisfaction. _So the anger is just a shield, _she thought. _But from what?_

"So, Ms. Creel, you say that you don't wish to become a superhero… and yet here you are, dropping off a group of villains that have been terrorizing the city for years."

"I don't want to be an agent of a 'secret' organization that has no protocol for what I like to do. And that is not to be used," Rhiannon replied.

"Then why are you here?"

Rhiannon glared, feeling the fire in her eyes strengthen to blazing. "Because," she said, each syllable ringing with the anger she felt, "these _things _nearly killed several of my friends; and maybe they have actually killed some of them. I don't take things like that lightly."

Nick smirked. "In essence, you don't have much control over your powers, yet you use them to exact revenge on a crew of villains like these?"

"No. I _didn't _have control over them. Now, do you want these guys as prisoners or free to destroy something else?"

"We'll take them in," Fury said hastily. "If you'll wait a moment, I'll take a jet and guide you to where we're holding the supervillains."

Rhiannon nodded, the spectral yet deadly hooked beak of her armor dipping with her. "That I can do."

* * *

**Hmph. Could have gone better. I actually wrote this thing maybe three times, but I was either logged out, or I wasn't on the Internet, or some other lame excuse for my computer to be stupid.**

**Please review!**

**FF**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well… hi. **

**I only own the OCs—everything else (including Cap and Bucky) belongs solely to Marvel and Stan Lee. **

* * *

"So… this is who you were wanting us to meet?" Tony Stark asked as he looked Rhiannon over. She glared back.

"Yes," Fury answered. "This is Rhiannon Creel. Ms. Creel, this is Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. "I know perfectly well who he is. And what. What I don't know is why you want me to meet him."

Nick gave a slight _harrumph _in her direction before continuing. "Mr. Stark, as you well know, S.H.I.E.L.D. is authorized to give you… let's just say emergency contacts. Ms. Creel here I think would be a good one. I'll assume you've seen the news?"

"Yeah, plus Reed called to let me know that the Wrecking Crew had been brought in earlier today. I'm just having a hard time believing that S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't want someone like her on their side," Tony said.

Rhiannon snorted. "Trust me, they certainly tried. And I said no."

The billionaire—or maybe trillionaire—in his off-white tux and slacks, looked at her, slightly shocked. "You refused an offer to join S.H.I.E.L.D.? Usually they don't allow that…"

"Well, I'm hardly one to upset, am I?" answered Rhiannon.

Stark laughed, which surprised her. "Yeah, I can believe that," he said. "So, Fury," he continued, directing his attention to the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.. "I know you said she'd be an 'emergency contact' or whatever, but why do I get the feeling you're trying to get her to get out into the world and be used as a weapon to save it?"

"Because he is," Rhiannon said dryly.

"Because I think it would be good to have her out in the world, but it would also be good for her as well."

Rhiannon recoiled. "Excuse me? I can take care of myself!" Her eyes narrowed, showing flickers of violet fire. "And don't you _dare _bring in reasons like that. Ever."

Fury smirked—infuriatingly. "Someone a bit touchy on that subject?"

Rhiannon felt her eyes narrow even more, until they were just slits. "Depends in the direction that subject is going, Fury," she hissed.

Stark, thankfully, intervened before Fury said something else. "Hold up guys! First off, Fury, I don't like to dig into people's private matters—and neither should you, though I suppose that'd be like telling a lion to go vegan—and I would definitely appreciate if you would not be the cause of my office being destroyed again. It gets enough mistreatment from supervillains and explosions. Second, Rhiannon, I'd like you to know that the Avengers are here to help—even if you don't need it now, we're always open."

Rhiannon tilted her head, considering. "I suppose I would appreciate that. However, I think that now I've been revealed as a super-whatever, my boss is probably going to ask me to leave. And probably my neighbors will ask the same." This comment she directed to Fury, who nodded, saying, "It'll be taken care of."

Stark looked at her carefully. "If you don't feel too uncomfortable about it, we have a few spare rooms at the Avengers mansion. I would be happy to let you borrow one, if the rest of the team is okay with it."

Surprised again, Rhiannon smiled—for the first time since entering the office—and said, "Thank you. I would definitely appreciate that."

Fury nodded in satisfaction. "I'll be going then. Be sure to let me know if you need anything, Ms. Creel," he said. Rhiannon glowered at him, and he left.

"Well," said Stark, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I guess I should call the team. Do you want to meet them at the mansion or before we leave?"

"Whatever works."

He nodded and pressed a button on the desk, which made the holographic face of a stern-looking redhead pop into existence. "Hey, Pepper? D'you think you can call in the rest of the team to Stark Tower? I have someone I want them to meet. Make sure Hank comes as well."

The woman nodded, and the image disappeared. "That was Pepper Potts, my assistant," he said by way of explanation. Rhiannon nodded absentmindedly, staring at the painting above the fireplace—a bunch of splatters, really, but it intrigued her.

* * *

About twenty minutes after Stark made the call, the rest of the team finally showed. Pepper opened the door let them in, and they entered, first Hawkeye, then the rest, ending in the Hulk.

"Hey guys," said Tony. "This is Rhiannon Creel, Fury's… what did he call you again?"

Rhiannon smirked. "Emergency contact."

"Right! What she said. So, Rhiannon, I'm going to guess you know who they are by their superhero names, but their real names…?" He ended in a question, and Rhiannon answered, "Only you and Rogers."

"Okay then. Hawkeye is Clint Barton, Ant-Man is Hank Pym, the Wasp is Janet Van Dyne—"

"Call me Jan!" said the short—but bubbly—young woman.

"—right—and then the Black Panther is T'Challa, king of Wakanda, Captain America is Steve Rogers, I am Tony Stark, Thor is just Thor, and the Hulk is the Hulk."

"…got it."

Tony clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms against each other. "Right! So, guys, I wanted you to meet her because, seeing as she's the one who delivered the Wrecking Crew to the Baxter Building, and now all her friends know what she's capable of, she's needing a place to crash. I offered her one of the rooms in the mansion; does anyone object?"

Captain America stepped forward. "I'll say that she deserves it more than anything," he said, nodding to her. The rest of the team—even the Hulk—nodded as well. Suddenly, Jan whooped, "Yeah! I'm not the only girl in the house now!"

Rhiannon smiled as everyone else laughed.

* * *

**Heehee. We're moving along! WHOO! **

**Oh, and does anyone know of a good name she could have as a superhero title?**

**Ahem. PleasepleasePLEASE review!**

FF


	5. Chapter 5

**HEY! ****Who stole my nachos?!**

**Wait—I don't eat nachos. Too cheesy. **

**I only own the OCs.**

* * *

Once everyone had been introduced, they all went back to the mansion, and Rhiannon saw it up close for the first time. It was big, thank goodness—wouldn't do for a mansion to be small. She just hoped that whatever underground stuff she was sure Stark had put in it wasn't too small either. _That _would be bad.

"Nice place," she commented.

"Thanks. If you'll come inside I'll show you your room," Tony answered.

Rhiannon followed him inside, where he led her up two flights of stairs and down a long, wide corridor. Soon after Rhiannon had lost count of just _how many **doors** _there were, he stopped in front of one that looked slightly different from the others (then again, they were all unique in their own way): it was a dark, purplish indigo, like a country's night sky without the stars and moon. He opened it and she entered, taking it all in.

It was huge, almost as big as her whole house out in Riverhead. The walls were a beige/sepia color, with a darker brown trim, and the floor was hardwood on one end and soft, plush looking carpet on the other. The ceiling was made of what looked like oak wood. There was a desk, and a large bookshelf—stocked with, of course, books—both made of what looked like cherrywood. One end was half-way partitioned off from the rest of the room. Rhiannon wandered over and found a queen-sized bed, with a smoky dark blue comforter and oaken bedposts, an oaken chest at its foot, a nightstand with a beautiful lamp, shaded dark blue, and a huge bay window on one wall—complete with a purple-cushioned window seat. The curtains on the window were dark violet with vertical ripples of crimson.

All of her favorite colors, awash together in a room she would never have dreamed of designing.

Tony looked uncomfortable. "There are some sets of clothing in the closet, I don't know if they fit or not, and the bathroom's stocked with whatever you might need. Is the room all right?"

Rhiannon, who had been in a bit of a trance, nodded, saying, "It's beautiful. Thank you." Her voice was more sincere then she'd ever remembered it being.

"Ah…" Rhiannon almost didn't notice that the normally flirtatious playboy billionaire was at a loss for words as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Right, well… I ought to be going… I've got a meeting in five minutes, so… see ya." He disappeared down the hallway as he said it.

Rhiannon cocked her head. _Why would a billionaire, especially someone like Tony Stark, be as uncomfortable as he is now? _she thought to herself. She shook her head, bemused. Rich people were strange.

* * *

It turned out that the Avengers were really quite welcoming. Even the Hulk wasn't too bad once Rhiannon had cracked a good joke. T'Challa, in his own mysterious way, had automatically made her very comfortable. In the books and stories she'd read or heard, it was always the people like the mediative Wakandan king that she enjoyed most; with their wisdom and steady strength lending confidence to the main hero—or sometimes being the main hero, lending confidence to others. Clint Barton was loud, slightly overconfident, and very proud—bordering on arrogance—but had a streak of selflessness that few could match. Hank Pym was very nice, but was always obsessed with whatever project he was working on at that time, sometimes just sitting, staring into space, and Rhiannon sometimes thought she could see numbers and letters and calculations swirling around his head, like ghostly little sprites. Janet Van Dyne was short, yes, but so bubbly it was like seeing a six-year-old in an adult's mind and body. Tony was much more comfortable with the rest of the team in the room, which made Rhiannon relieved. She wasn't sure if she would have liked a host that was always nervous. Thor was very… gallant, especially with his medieval-like upbringing.

Steve, however, was a bit of a puzzle. He made Rhiannon think that she knew him, but it was definitely impossible, and that just made it even more frustrating. He was a gentleman, and made Rhiannon feel right at home, but there was still that weird sensation nagging at the back of her mind that wouldn't go away.

It was still nagging when she went to bed that night, too. However, the comfortable mattress and warm duvet sent her right off. The next morning, Rhiannon swept the matter out of her mind as if sweeping dust with a broom, and considered exactly how long she wanted to stay. Which was a bit of a rhetorical question, as she would have loved to stay forever, but that didn't seem like a likely option right now.

Sighing, she decided to put it out of her mind for now. After she had run a durable brush through her black hair, which was tangled from sleep, Rhiannon headed down to where she could faintly smell toast.

Rhiannon entered the kitchen to see Hank, Jan and Steve hanging in the kitchen—not in costume—waiting for the toast she had smelled to pop up. Jan hopped to the ground from where she'd been sitting on the counter. "Hey, you're up! Would you like some toast?" she asked.

Rhiannon smiled. "I'd love that, thanks."

Once Jan had popped a couple more pieces of bread in the toaster, she went back to her perch on the counter, saying, "So, Rhiannon, you don't have to tell us if you don't want to, but what's your story?"

"I actually have no idea," Rhiannon replied honestly has she settled herself on the counter opposite of the Wasp. They all looked at her curiously, and she shrugged. "A team of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found me up in Canada, frozen and near death, about six years ago. I woke up with amnesia and got a job at the NYT, and have been in New York ever since."

"So, how do you know your name is Rhiannon? Did you choose it?" Jan asked.

Rhiannon shrugged again nonchalantly. "Name tag." She decided she didn't really want to share the locket's note with anyone; or at least, not yet. Steve looked at her sympathetically.

Hank seemed to be studying her. "So," he said, "are the astral wings a mutation or what?"

"I don't actually know. I don't think they're a mutation… but then again, look at all the mutants out there. Some definitely seem like mutations, others really don't. Take Whirlwind, for example. His looks like a bunch of gadgets, or a science experiment gone wrong. And it's not just wings," Rhiannon reminded him. "I can sometimes do other things as well."

The scientist seemed to visibly brighten. "Like what?"

"Well, I have made my hands turn into claws once or twice. And if I concentrate, I have been able to encase myself in just armor, no bird-like apparitions or anything. I prefer the eagle, though. Gives me a little more… freedom."

Jan nodded seriously. "You mean flight? I can understand that."

"So what you're saying," Hank pressed, "is that sometimes you can make your abilities do something, sometimes you can't?"

Rhiannon nodded. "Precisely. I don't have all that much control over it, and I usually am only able to call on it when I have very strong emotions. Anger, for example, is what made it possible for me to capture the Wrecking Crew."

"Because they destroyed the NYT building?"

"Yep."

"Maybe we can help you get some control over it," Hank suggested.

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe we can offer training, like letting it out in a safe place and seeing what you can do with it."

"That… might actually be a good idea. I guess you really are a genius," Rhiannon said jokingly. Hank laughed as well, just as the toast popped up. Jan hopped down and grabbed the eight pieces of golden-brown bread and stuck them on four plates, grabbing a few different jams, jellies and a small tub of butter and setting them all on the island counter.

Rhiannon thanked her and grabbed the jar of blueberry-blackberry jelly, spreading the purple goo over the bread in a few deft strokes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve watching her curiously before doing his own toast.

For a minute or two, the room was filled with the sound of chewing. Then, Rhiannon, swallowing down the last of her second piece of toast, said, "So, I know that I'm not really a member or anything, but is there anything I should know about you guys before we get started? Like that you have mortal enemies or a nemesis group?"

This time it was Steve who answered. "We do, unfortunately. The Masters of Evil. They attacked the mansion about a week ago. They consist of Amora the Enchantress, someone from Asgard, Thor's home; the Executioner, also from Asgard; Zemo, my old adversary from the war; Abomination, Hulk's main enemy; the Crimson Dynamo, someone who hates Stark and actually kind of copied his suit; and Wonderman, someone who also hates Stark. They might have recruited more in the past week, but we don't really know what they're up to."

Rhiannon nodded. "I see. So, in a sense, it's people who hate the more reputable members of the team? No offense to you two," she added to Jan and Hank. "but that's what it seems like."

Jan waved an airy hand. "Don't worry, we know who the core members of the team are. Anyway, I'm heading down to the training room. Want to come, Rhiannon?"

"I'd love to," Rhiannon replied, smiling.

* * *

**So, now you know how this is oriented. Rhiannon comes in before the episode where the Kree-bot comes in and reveals the existence of the Kree Empire (sorry, I'm terrible with episode names—unless they have the Winter Solider in them) and after the one where the Masters of Evil try and destroy the Avengers (which is a stupid plan, if you ask me. They should have hired Ultron when he turned evil).**

**Anyways, I would definitely appreciate reviews! I love reviews.**

**FF**


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